NEW SELF Meal Plans

Newsletter

I Did It! 20 Minutes Running, Y'all!

I thought this would never happen, so I'm going to say it loud and proud: 20 minutes. Me. Running. It happened.Here's how it went down: Thanks to my adorable new puppy, who adorably does not sleep through the night, I've...

I thought this would never happen, so I'm going to say it loud and proud: 20 minutes. Me. Running. It happened.

Here's how it went down: Thanks to my adorable new puppy, who adorably does not sleep through the night, I've basically given up on a.m. exercise for the time being. Instead, I've been doing angry runs in the evenings and weekends, hoping to God that I'll be ready to do this 3.6 miler in a month. Like the other not-well-thought-out projects I've taken on, I've been holding my training together with equal parts blind optimism and desperate fear of failure.

The Couch to 5K app has been a lifesaver because it tells me exactly what to do when; a woman's voice calmly says "start running now" and "you're halfway there!" and "start walking now" at just the right moments. The app has been incrementally upping my running time in bursts I can actually manage: three minutes, five minutes, and so on, with walking in between. A countdown clock appears with each segment, so I know how long I have to make it.

But I was in for a shock after my most recent five-minute warm-up, when the app lady said I had to run for 20 minutes. I was all like "ummmm, nice app lady, I love you, but that's more than twice as long as I've ever run before." No dice. So I decided that I would try to beat my high of nine minutes and do 10, then defy the app and just walk.

I promptly started distracting myself while the app counted down from 20:00. I thought about these impractical-but-amazing shoes I can't afford, what kind of chocolate I would have later, how being a dog owner has affected my social life, and the deep meaning of religion in our fractured time. Surely I've killed 10 minutes by now, I thought to myself.

I took a peek at my phone. The countdown clock read 17:29. Awesome.

But then I did something I hardly ever do: I just shut my brain off. I focused on my breathing, on each foot hitting the treadmill, on how my arms were moving. I imagined each breath was a different color filling my lungs (and other various hippie-inspired positive reinforcements). When I started to really struggle with about six minutes left, I began an internal mantra: "I am strong. I am strong. I am strong."

And you know what? I felt strong. Maybe for the first time since I started running. And when the app lady said "start your cool down," I didn't cry with relief, as I thought I would. I just raised my arms in victory, a huge grin on my face.